there's no way I could let you go
by justimpolite
Summary: 'You're pretty sure that Quinn is a miracle. To anyone else, Quinn is the pinnacle of elegance; but you can see the tremor in her spine as she forces herself to stay upright. Sometimes you think you're the only one who can see Quinn Fabray's tremors.' post 3x14, Rachel Berry is the only one to see Quinn for who she is.


**Because Quinn is fascinating. I don't own glee.**

**title taken from The Backpack Song - Bear Attack!**

* * *

You're pretty sure that Quinn is a miracle.

You think this as you watch her make her way down the hallway; left leg still just that second behind the other, stubborn in its recovery. You think it as you watch her scrawl into her notebook during chemistry. She sits one seat across. She doesn't slump. Her back is straight, and to anyone else Quinn is the pinnacle of elegance; but you can see the tremor in her spine as she forces herself to stay upright.

Sometimes you think you're the only one who can see Quinn Fabray's tremors.

.

You were always told that miracles were the product of prayer.

This makes you wonder if there are people besides yourself who have prayed for Quinn.

You hope so.

.

Graduation comes and goes, and soon enough you're in New York and feeling endlessly alone.

But then classes start and you remember that this is what you've been waiting for all your life and you're going to do everything it takes to make it. Kurt joins you in the city a couple of months later, and the two of you continue to take on the whole wide world, side by side. Granted, at the moment your lives mostly consist of late night work and empty take-out boxes, but you're doing it all on your own, and it feels fantastic.

.

You don't see Quinn in person until a couple of weeks before Christmas.

She steps out onto the platform in her usual boots and blazer (though this time with the addition of much thicker socks and a jacket) and her choppy blonde locks are held haphazardly into place under the safety of her blue beanie. You see her, and your breath hitches in your throat because she's breathtaking. Everything about her is so undeniably...Quinn.

She smiles and waves and you find your feet are carrying you towards her without registering it, and then next thing you know you're in her arms and everything is safe.

You never grasped the concept of physics all that well at school, but you feel the way your own body fits so well against Quinn's, and you suddenly understand gravity in perfect clarity.

.

It isn't until the next time that you see her that it happens, though.

Kurt is out with some boy from one of his classes, and you and Quinn are sprawled on the floor, giggling and passing a wine bottle between the two of you.

You talk about nonsensical things, like the state of the apartment, Quinn's roommate back in New Haven, and whether Kurt would be returning that night. You talk about lots of things, but you have trouble concentrating because Quinn's hair is framing her face in such a way that makes you want to reach out and touch her, and you're surprised that the alcohol pumping through your body doesn't cause you to do so. The ghost of Grace Kelly, indeed.

But at some point throughout the night, Quinn notices you looking, and she looks back. You stare at one another for a long while.

"Are you drunk?" she asks.

"No."

"Good."

And then she kisses you. She kisses you and everything else fades away, and you realise that this is happening and it's perfect.

.

The semi-drunken kiss you'd shared acted as a catalyst for your relationship; feelings unearthed and secrets admitted. There were a few days of expected awkwardness, but you gave Quinn the time she needed.

Three weeks later you had answered a knock at the door to reveal Quinn, cheeks flushed and hands pushed deep into the comfort of her pockets. She had looked you in the eye and said: "I think you're magnificent."

Seconds later you'd found your back pushed against the wall, and Quinn's hands rooted in your hair, claiming your mouth; your everything.

The two of you lay in your bed later that night, hands refusing to leave the newly-found territory. She'd kissed your ear and asked you to be her girlfriend. You'd laughed, and pulled her on top of you.

"Like you even need to ask."

.

You make it work. You're not sure how you both do it, and it was tough, but you manage it.

Quinn comes to you as often as she can, and you've surprised her outside her dorm room on a fair few times that she wasn't able to make it.

Quinn shows you New Haven, and you introduce her to New York. She smiles to whole time you tug her by the hand around the city, pointing and rambling excitedly.

"Why you smiling like that?" you ask, after catching a chuckle escape her lips.

"This place," she says. "It's just so typically you."

The smile that fills your face is the brightest you've ever given.

.

A few months later you tell her about your hypothesis.

"I think I'm anything but a miracle, Rach."

Your finger maps out the few moles scattered upon the canvas of her abdomen. You wander towards the scar on her lower back. You almost scoff at her comment when your touch meets rough, ruined skin. Though the swell of emotion that builds inside of you upon sight of the scar is familiar, it is no less devastating than each time before. You will never come to terms with the fact Quinn almost died. That life nearly rejected her, and that she simply ceased to be. You can't imagine life without Quinn Fabray, and you pray nightly that you'll never have to.

.

You're both busy all the time. You've finally managed to break out onto the Broadway scene, just like you knew you always would, but you think the amount of time it takes up in your life in practically criminal. Quinn is at college most of the time, so you only really get to see each other in the evenings, and the occasional weekend morning.

This was one of those Sunday mornings. Legs and fingers were entangled and entwined, and lazy smiles shared.

"Do you still think I'm a miracle?" She asks. You respond that of course you do, how could you ever think differently?

"Growing up, I was led to believe that there were so many connotations of unadulterated goodness to a miracle; that miracles exist to help others. I'm not exactly an example of any of that, am I? What would be God's intention behind me saving me?"

She lets out that little sigh she does whenever she feels like things are starting to become too much. You know by now to drop the subject once this happens, so you simply roll over to her, remove the fabric barriers between your bodies, and remind her that she is very much alive, and even more beautiful.

.

Russell Fabray dies when Quinn is twenty four.

You expect the silence when you tell her the news. The two of them never reconnected. Quinn simply nods, picks up her jacket and leaves. You let her go.

.

She returns at three in the morning, the smell of alcohol thick on her breath. You feel her sink into bed next to you, and you turn to look at her. You don't ask anything of her, you just run your thumb along her cheek and wet your lips with your tongue, stifling a sob at her broken, dishevelled appearance.

"I hate him." She eventually chokes out. "I hate him, but I still care. Why?"

You sit up and she falls into your embrace, body shaking with sobs that have been pent up for the last twenty years of her life.

"Because you're human: incredibly so. It's okay to feel this way. It's okay."

"It can all end so quickly, Rachel."

"I know."

"I could have died."

"I know."

"Sometimes I think it's a miracle I'm alive."

Your vision is blurred by tears, and Quinn's hands are gripping you so tightly your skin almost burns, but you can't stop yourself from letting out a breathy laugh. But then you're crying again, and you're kissing Quinn all over.

"It is. You are. I love you."


End file.
